Traditions
by InsideOutlaw
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and the boys are in the trouble. Help comes from a very unlikely source.


"Hold on, Heyes, it's just a few more miles," said the Kid. His frozen fingers held the reins to his partner's sorrel gelding. Curry could barely see the slumping form next to him. The heavy snow storm had become a blizzard and the visibility was near zero.

What had started out as an easy two-day's ride to Tin Cup had turned into a nightmare. They'd left Gunnison in clear skies. Not a cloud on the horizon. Pitkin had been reached in record time, and they'd hoped to overnight there, but the town was flooded with disgruntled railroad workers laboring on the construction of the new Alpine Tunnel. Work on the tunnel had begun the previous January and had been scheduled to be completed within six months. Numerous delays had the workers facing another rough winter and had soured the town's mood.

A brief stop at the local saloon for a beer had been a mistake. Four fights had broken out while the boys downed their suds and the sound of gunfire punctuated the brawls. Before the sheriff had arrived, the Kid and Heyes had ducked out the back of the tattered tent building and retrieved their horses.

The papers they were delivering to the mine at Tin Cup had to arrive by the close of business the next day or they wouldn't be paid. It was Christmas Eve and the mine was shutting down until after the New Year. They couldn't afford to be stranded in the remote town without money. The Kid was down to his last dollar and Heyes only had a few cents more rattling about in his pockets. They needed this paycheck. So instead of risking trouble in Pitkin, they'd chosen to climb the long, arduous route up Cumberland Pass as the clouds had begun to move in and a strong wind picked up, driving a chill through their heavy winter coats, and roughly swaying the firs and spruces lining the trail.

They'd stopped for the night just short of the summit. It had been brutally cold and, this morning, they'd awakened to a light snow dusting their bedrolls.

The trail had become treacherous as the snow had begun to fall in earnest and it became covered by a coating of soft powder. Hidden beneath the fresh snow, the newly moistened mud had turned slippery. Heyes' horse had lost its footing, gone down hard, and had rolled on him. As the horse madly scrambled to its feet, the Kid had leapt off his own animal and hurried down the trail, half-sliding and falling in his haste to reach his partner. Heyes had sat up quickly and cussed a blue streak. He'd been clutching his sides by the time Curry reached him.

The Kid had argued for stopping right then and there, but Heyes had stubbornly refused to give up on the job. He had insisted he was fine and had demanded his partner's help in mounting. It had been a struggle. The spooked, mud-caked horse had jumped away nervously several times before Heyes was able to pull himself painfully up and into his saddle. That had been three hours ago.

Heyes was no longer cussing, and the only sounds he made were a hiss of labored breathing and an occasional groan. Curry was worried, but they had to go on. The snow drifting across the trail was several feet deep and the blizzard showed no sign of abating. If they stopped now, they'd freeze to death in no time.

It'd be just their luck to die on Christmas Eve, thought the Kid. He couldn't remember the last time they'd had a normal holiday. No, that wasn't true, he could; he just didn't want to. When the Preacher had been with the gang, they'd attempted to observe Christmas. Had even put up a tree a few times and read the scriptures, but outlaws don't have much self-control and what would start out as a day of feasting and goodwill always devolved into a night of drunkenness, morose regret for the life they had chosen, and a dawn of remorse. Heyes had given up on it years ago. Now it was just a reminder of how far they had fallen.

OOOOOOOOOO

The Kid wiped the ice from his caked lashes and blinked several times as he rode into town. Soft, diffused light from the buildings glowed through the heavy snow as the horses waded through deep powder that tickled their bellies. Huge snowdrifts half-hid the sturdy log cabins sprinkled among the businesses that lined the street. Great, thought the Kid, the whole town's closed up tighter than a lady's corset.

Heyes moaned softly and the Kid turned to check on him. He was hunched over his saddle horn clutching it tightly. His face was covered with frost and his battered, black hat had been dyed white in the storm. Pulling up, the Kid dismounted. He had to get Heyes inside even if it meant barging in on some poor family's celebrations. He trudged to his partner's side and reached up to help him down. As Heyes half fell into his arms, he heard a voice muffled by the blizzard.

"Hello, there, let me help." A reddened, chapped face appeared out of the curtain of snow and hands reached out to steady him. "What the hell are you two doing out in a storm like this?"

Curry turned to thank his helper and stopped short at the sight of the tin star pinned to the lawman's chest. He tried to hide his shock, but the man had seen him flinch and the Kid knew it. "Much obliged, Marshal. Uh, my partner took a bad spill coming off the summit. I think he busted a few ribs. Is there a doctor in town?"

"There is, but he ain't here. Doc took off this morning to visit his family in Taylor Park. Here, let me take him. Jail's four doors down on the left; I'll take him there. There's a corral and a lean-to out back; you can put your horses in there for the night."

There wasn't anything the Kid could do but nod. He snatched up the horses' reins and followed the marshal as he tugged Heyes through the snow.

OOOOOOOOOO

Each of the two empty jail cells had two cots. The marshal gently sat Heyes down on a cot in the first cell and propped a pillow behind his back. "Hold on, son. I'll get you settled in a minute." He hurried into the next cell, pulling the thin, threadbare mattress off one of the cots, rolling it up, grabbing both pillows, and carrying it all back into Heyes' cell. He unrolled the mattress on top of the empty cot's mattress making it thicker and softer.

Fluffing up both pillows, he put them on the doubled-up mattresses before turning to help Heyes up. The Kid plowed through the door, a swirl of snow following him in, as the marshal eased Heyes onto the cushioned bed. "Easy now," said the gentle marshal.

The Kid rushed into the cell to help and together they laid Heyes back. He was barely conscious and shivering as his body began to warm. Curry pulled the extra blankets from the other cells and piled them upon his partner.

The marshal walked out of the cell as the Kid waited for the door to clang shut in his face. Instead, the man went to the woodstove behind his oak desk and poured two cups of hot coffee from the pot resting atop it, and carried them back to the Kid. "Here, this ought to take the chill off." He held out a cup.

"Thanks, Marshal…?" said the Kid, taking the coffee.

"Rivers, Harry Rivers. You can call me Harry," said the genial man.

"I'm Thaddeus Jones. My partner there is Joshua Smith."

The lawman surprised the Kid by laughing, "Smith and Jones, huh?"

Trying to stay nonchalant, Curry smiled, "Yep, Smith and Jones."

"Well, Jones, you and your partner can wait out the storm here. I reckon it ought to let up in a day or so."

"I'm grateful, Harry," said the Kid. The marshal sat down on the bunk opposite from Heyes as he sank carefully next to Heyes.

"So what brings you and Mr. Smith to Tin Cup?"

"We're delivering some papers to the mine from a lawyer fella down in Gunnison."

"That so? What lawyer?"

"A Mr. Winkoop."

"I know Art Winkoop. Good man," said Harry, blowing on his coffee, but watching the Kid over the rim of his mug.

The Kid wondered how long it would take for Harry to check his story. Not long, he bet. He stood. "I reckon I ought to get the job done. Mine's closing tonight, right?" he asked.

"Yes, son, it is. Tell you what. I was on my way out there myself. I can drop off those letters for you," said Harry. He'd like to take a look at those papers just to make sure that Mr. Jones wasn't lying to him.

Curry knew he'd look at the papers, but he didn't hesitate at all. "Sure, Harry, that'd be right nice of you." He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and held it out. It would be far worse to leave Heyes here with the marshal while he was half out of his head with the cold. It was a known fact that his partner was likely to blab in that condition.

"No trouble, son," said Harry, tucking the envelope into his own coat and standing up. "I'll send someone around with some food for you. I ought to be back in an hour or so. Help yourself to the coffee if you'd like." He wasn't worried about leaving these two loose around town. His gut told him these men weren't dangerous and he relied heavily on instinct. Besides, where would they go on a night like this?

"Thank you," said the Kid.

OOOOOOOOOO

Curry had just fallen asleep in the marshal's chair with his feet propped up on the desk. His heavy sheepskin coat was draped over the back of the chair and the odor of wet hide permeated the small jail. He'd wrestled Heyes out of his gray jacket, wet boots, and pants before retreating exhausted to the warmth of the woodstove. The wind was still howling through the eaves of the building and he hadn't envied the marshal his trip to the mining office.

The sound of the door opening aroused him and he dropped his feet from the desk. A small, gray-haired woman stepped into the office, brushing the snow off her buffalo-hide coat. A floppy old Stetson drooped on her head failing to conceal the wide grin on her face.

"Hey there, sonny, Harry said you could use some vittles." She held up a small Dutch oven, bustled over to the desk, and plunked it down in front of the Kid. Digging into her pocket, she pulled out a bandana filled with warm biscuits. "Damn, boy, you look like hell. Are you daft or something wanderin' around in a blizzard?"

"No, ma'am…"

"I'm Gladys, who are you?" She held out a wizened, arthritic claw. The Kid took it gently and smiled. She was hard not to smile at.

"Thaddeus Jones; pleased to meet you, Gladys."

"So Harry said your partner got hisself busted up; I ain't no doc, but I've bound a few ribs in my time. Is he awake?"

"No, ma'am…" A soft moan belied his statement, and the covers over Heyes started to flop about.

"I'm awake," said a deep, sleepy voice. Gladys followed the sound to the lumpy form lying in the cell as the Kid got up and trailed after her.

"Well, sit your butt up, boy, and I'll get you fixed up in no time," said Gladys, yanking back the covers as Heyes tried desperately to hang onto them. She smiled into the wide brown eyes staring up at her, outraged. "Come on now, good-lookin', don't be shy. You ain't got nothin' I ain't seen before; though I've seen more."

Heyes blushed, beet red, pulled the covers back up over his long johns, and frowned when his partner chuckled. "Hey, I'm cold!" he growled.

She helped Heyes up gently until he sat on the edge of the cot, his feet dangling above the floor because of the second mattress. Looking over her shoulder, she snapped at the Kid. "Don't hover over me, son, fetch me that coffee pot."

"Yes, ma'am," said the Kid.

Turning her attention back to Heyes, she gently unbuttoned his shirt knowing he would be too sore to raise his arms if his ribs were busted. He sat there passively, too tired and too sore to resist. She whistled at the heavy purplish bruising that covered his chest. "Aww, you bunged yourself up right proper now, haven't you? But nothin' seems broken. What's your name, son?"

"Joshua."

"Joshua what?"

"Joshua Smith."

Gladys cackled harshly, "You two don't have a lick of imagination, do you?!"

The Kid heard her as he walked into the cell and stood over them, holding the hot coffee.

"Thaddeus, put that down and fetch me some towels. I think Harry has some in the back room," she ordered. He put the coffee on the rough table between the two beds and hurried away.

"You," she said to Heyes, "stop squirmin'!"

"Yes, ma'am," said Heyes, passively watching as she pulled out a small jar from her hairy coat. She unscrewed the lid and laughed again as he wrinkled his nose.

"It smells bad, but it works real good," she assured him. Heyes tried to cringe away, but she liberally slathered him with the unguent. Finished, she buttoned up his shirt, and left him sitting on the cot unable to avoid the pungent aroma. His stomach lurched at the smell, but he could already feel a strange, tingling sensation spreading across his chest.

"What is that you smeared on me?" he asked.

"That's my secret recipe. Learnt it from an old chinee fellow who passed through these parts a few years back."

"What's in it?" asked Heyes.

"If'n I told you what's in it, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?" she snorted. "Never you mind." She pulled out a small bindle from her other pocket and put it on the table. She could hear Thaddeus banging around in the back room and chuckled at his curses. Grabbing one of the two tin cups resting on the table, she filled it halfway with coffee. Her gnarled finger stirred the concoction while she blew on it until satisfied it was cool. She held it to Heyes' lips.

He pulled away from it. "What's this?"

"You're just full of questions, ain't you? It's plain old white willow bark and a little sleepin' powder. She pressed it on him again. "Now, drink it all down fast like."

Heyes did.

"Good boy." With infinite gentleness, she eased him down and covered him with the blankets, tucking them in carefully. She brushed his forehead, sweeping back the hair, and smiled. "You get some sleep now, Joshua. You'll feel better in the morning. Who knows, if'n you been good," she chuckled, "Santa might just bring you something." She sat next to him and held his hand as he drifted off.

He was asleep when the Kid came back.

"I couldn't find any towels. Are you sure they're there?" said the Kid doubtfully.

Gladys stood up and smiled, "I don't need any towels, son, I just hated you hoverin' over me while I took care of your friend here. Now, c'mon, let's get out of here and let him sleep." She shooed the Kid through the cell door. "You sit down and eat. There's enough stew for tomorrow, too. I reckon you can set it on the stove to stay warm. I'd best be goin' now; I've got a passel of kids to feed. Don't you worry about your partner none; he'll be right as rain in no time. Merry Christmas." She waved good-bye as she hurried through the door before he could say good-bye.

The Kid sat down at the desk and lifted the lid on the pot. The stew tasted as good as it smelled and he ate eagerly. He'd just put the leftover stew on the stove, leaned back in the chair, and wiped his mouth with one of the unused towels as the marshal came in.

"I see Gladys made it over here," said Harry, knocking the snow off his hat and putting it back on his head.

"Yes, she did," grinned the Kid.

Harry dropped an envelope on the desk. "Here's your pay. There's a little extra, too. I made sure the manager knew what it cost you to make the delivery."

"Thanks, Harry. Want some stew?" asked the Kid, gesturing to the pot.

"Nope, I ain't staying. It's Christmas Eve and I'm spending it with my missus," said Harry, his tone less friendly and more businesslike. "Now, I've got a little tradition going here. I make it a point to have my cells cleared out of prisoners by Christmas. I don't hold with locking a man up on the Lord's birthday and that's my day to spend with my family. You're on your own tomorrow. I won't feel the same come the day after. Understood?"

The Kid gulped and nodded, "Yes sir. Can you give our thanks to Gladys?"

Harry smiled again, "Will do. Miz Tydings is a gem, ain't she?" he said as he opened the door and went out.

"That she is," said the Kid softly, getting up to join his partner in the cozy jail cell.

**Author's Note:** _In the 1880 census, Tin Cup, a mining town at an elevation of 10,157 feet, had a population of 1,495. Harry Rivers was the Town Marshal until 1882 when he was killed in a gunfight. His replacement, Andy Jameson, was shot to death in 1883_


End file.
